


Squared Up

by Perpetual Motion (perpetfic)



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: M/M, YAGKYAS, YAGKYAS 2013
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-30
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-06 16:40:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1109122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perpetfic/pseuds/Perpetual%20Motion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kocher has to unfuck himself, but it's never as easy as it sounds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Squared Up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amoama](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amoama/gifts).



> It's a first for me and this pairing. I hope you enjoy it! Thanks to templemarker for the beta!

Months later, in a stateside bar far enough away from base Kocher feels he's probably okay to _look_ at other guys, he sits at the bar, scopes the room, and sees Doc. Doc is in a booth, way in the back, sitting with two guys. His arm is around one of them, and Kocher would brush it off except Doc's hand is curled loosely around the man's collar, and Kocher is up and walking over to say a shark-grin hello before he can think.

"Doc!" he greets. "Been awhile."

Doc looks up, and Kocher doesn't know why he expected fear or concern because what Doc gives him is the level stare he put on over bullshit from command or bleeds. Why would being out of a warzone keep Doc from being a defiant fucker?

"Eric," Doc greets with some actual warmth, though his eyes are distrusting. Kocher would be offended, except--well, he's the reason Doc's looking at him like that. Months in the suck, shoulder-to-shoulder whenever they could, Doc curling his fingers around Kocher's collar when they could find five seconds away from everyone else. And then they got back, and Doc was willing to keep it going, this _thing_ between them they'd only shared in looks and occasional touches. But Eric had rabbited, stammering something about his career and DADT, and Tim had let him go.

"Just wanted to say hi," Kocher says, feeling a coward as he backs away and goes back to his beer. He doesn't look at any of the other guys in the room, doesn't look back at Doc. He finishes his beer, leaves cash to cover it, and goes home to sleep in bed alone.

*

"Move your skinny ass over, fucker," Doc says when he drops into Kocher's grave the nineteenth night they're tearing ass across Iraq.

"--fuck is this shit," Kocher mumbles, only coming about half awake. "Doc--"

"Encino Man just dumped his canteen into my grave," Doc says as he manhandles Kocher on his side and curls up behind him. That wakes Kocher up. Mostly because Doc's pointy fucking elbows are jamming against his ribs through his MOPP suit.

"You ain't man enough to sleep in a slightly damp grave?" Kocher asks, twisting and turning until he and Doc are face to face. In the darkness of the night, all Kocher can see is Doc's basic outline and the shiny whites of Doc's eyes. He looks ghostly, like something out of a dream. "What kind of hard ass Marine are you, son?"

"I'm the Navy man who patches up your ass," Doc replies, "so be nice or no morphine lollipop when you're good."

Kocher goes to sleep to the sound of Doc breathing, to the feel of Doc's knees and elbows pressed against him in uncomfortable places. It's the best two hours' sleep he gets in the whole war. When he wakes up to Sixta yelling for everyone to get themselves unfucked and ready to move, Doc is already sitting on the edge of the grave. He stands and stretches and reaches down, hand out for Kocher to grab and pull himself up.

Kocher grasps his wrist, plants his feet, and climbs up. He and Doc bump chests as he clears the hole, and Kocher thinks briefly of his first kiss, of how something in this moment as he and Doc look at each other, is almost the same.

*

A few weeks after the bar, Kocher's down at the Wal-Mart picking up Gatorade and protein bars and socks and underwear. As he swears under his breath and tries to find the socks he likes, another man comes into the aisle.

"Oh, come on," Doc says. He's got a cart, too. There's a pair of flip flops, a pack of t-shirts, shaving cream, and a pack of razors. Kocher can't remember, as he stares at Doc and tries not to flinch, if Doc had his fuck-you mustache at the bar or not. He doesn't have it now, and Kocher feels like he lost something.

"Hey," Kocher says, trying to sound casual. "Fancy meeting you here."

"Uh-huh," Doc says, all suspicion. He leaves his cart behind Kocher, walks over and grabs a pack of socks. His arm passes in front of Kocher's chest. He's in short sleeves, and Kocher stares at his forearm and wants to touch it.

"I'm just buying socks," Kocher says, and it comes out angry. Who the fuck does Doc think he is? He's not some creep following his not-actually-ex around a fucking Wal-Mart. He shops at this Wal-Mart all the time. Half of fucking base shops at this Wal-Mart. Kocher could shout "Ooh-Rah!" and probably get thirty people to respond back like some fucked up version of Marco Polo.

"Sure," Doc says, and it is not fair he doesn't get angry in his voice when he's pissed off.

"I _am_ ," Kocher snaps in a whisper. "You are not so goddamn interesting I have to stalk your ass to feel fulfilled."

"That guy I was with at the bar," Doc says without lowering his voice, "he decided I wasn't on the market when he saw the way you looked at him." He turns to walk away, and Kocher reaches out and grabs his arm, above the wrist, right over the hard line of tendon in Kocher's forearm. "You will get your fucking hand off of me or you won't get it back," Doc says.

Kocher clenches tighter before he drops his hand. "Shit. Tim. I didn't--"

"You wanna talk about your fucked up, in-the-closet feelings, get a shrink," Doc says. "It's not my goddamn job to fix you."

*

It feels like he's got a fucking bucket full of sand in his eyes, and Kocher finds Doc under his cammie netting sorting supplies and singing under his breath. "Hey," he says, and Doc looks up, all business.

"Yeah? You all right?"

"My eyes are burning like they've got the herp," Kocher says.

"Come on," Doc says, gesturing to the grenade box next to him. Kocher sits, and Doc stands over him, gets Kocher to tilt his head back by pressing two fingers lightly under his chin, and he shines a light in Kocher's eyes. It's so bright, even under the netting, that Kocher doesn't flinch from it.

"Well?" he asks after a few seconds.

"Windburn around your eyes, some irritation from all the fucking sand and dirt," Doc says. He clicks off his light, slides it into his pocket, and he turns back towards his kit. His hand drops from Kocher's chin and comes to rest just to the side of his leg.

Kocher stares at it, drops his own hand so it just touches Doc's. Doc doesn't look up from his kit, but his hand twitches, their pinkies bumping for just a second. Kocher has to clench his other hand into a fist to keep from shuddering at the contact. It's like your parents catching you making out in the basement when you're supposed to be doing your homework. And when Doc shifts to face him, reaching for Kocher's chin again, Kocher lifts it without being touched. Doc pauses for just a second before applying some cream around his eyes, and Kocher really does feel like he's just been kissed.

*

The biggest problem with DADT, in Kocher's opinion, isn't that it exists but that it puts a level of uncertainty between men in a unit who should trust each other with everything at all times. You trust your buddies with covering your ass, but not when it comes to your dick. It makes you--if you're Kocher--uncertain if you can talk to your closest friends about the relationship crisis you didn't know you had.

It means he spends five minutes trying to find the words to ask Brad for his opinion on the whole thing while Brad looks at him like he's lost his goddamn mind.

"Use your words, Eric," Brad says. "Or at least stop staring at me like I'm about to kick you in the nuts."

Kocher thinks a kick to the nuts could be useful at this point. Might clear his head. "There's someone I was sort of...seeing," he says slowly. "And we didn't get very far, didn't even have a real date, and I called it off, and then I ran into...this person...again, and basically, I've been told to fuck off."

"Sounds like good advice," Brad says.

Right. Brad got burned. Brad is very pragmatic about relationships. Brad hires hookers because feelings are complicated. Kocher forgets this a lot because this kind of conversation is not something they really do. Brad would have to have relationships to really get the problem, Kocher thinks.

"Had someone tell me the same once," Brad continues. Kocher tries to read him, but he's a breathing statue. "And I almost listened."

"Yeah?" Kocher asks. "When was this?"

"Recently," Brad says. "And...this person, we've known each other for awhile. And I was told I needed to stow my bullshit or get the fuck out."

"What'd you do?"

"Stowed my bullshit."

"That easy?"

"Hard as hell, but the person who demanded it was worth it."

Kocher thinks about that for a few seconds. "This person," he says, "This a _person_ I know?"

Brad smiles, wide and sweet in that way that transforms his face from the stoic, lifer Marine into a good looking, cheerful guy in his twenties. It takes Kocher by surprise to see it for the first time in a long time. "Yeah," Brad says. "You know this person."

Well, shit. And Kocher had thought he was the only guy falling hard in the suck. "How do you deal with it all?"

"My person's gone into a different line of work," Brad says. "You got that option?"

"I don't think so," Kocher replies.

"Then I've got no useful advice."

He's helped though, a little.

*

"Oh, god, Mom and Dad are fighting again," Doc says as he ducks under Kocher's cammie netting and sits next to him in the grave Redman dug before the watch switched.

"Which ones?" Kocher asks, and an indignant yelp from the direction of Hitman Two One that is clearly Ray answers his question. "Never mind."

Doc grins at him. "You think he's gonna lay on the brakes when we go Oscar Mike?"

Kocher listens to Ray's continued yelling. The words aren't carrying, but the tone is clear. There's silence that Kocher is certain means Brad is replying without raising his voice, and then Ray's squawking again. "Nah," he says. "Mom's already quieter."

"Damn," Doc says. "Ray always mikes so we can hear Brad apologizing. It's funny as hell."

Kocher laughs. "I can't believe Brad lets him do that. I'd snap his neck."

Doc looks at him, something in his eyes that makes Kocher feel warm and valued. "I don't know, someone like that at my back, I'd let him get away with a lot."

"Yeah," Kocher manages to get out, and the way Doc tilts his head tells him he's giving back a look as good as he just got. "I could see that."

*

Kocher goes to the beach, lays out on his battered old towel and is half-asleep from the heat and the sound of the waves when a shadow falls over him.

"Seriously?" Doc asks. He's standing over Kocher in board shorts, a towel over one arm, a cooler in his hand. He looks too thin still, but less thin than the last time Eric saw him.

"I was here first," Kocher says. "Fuck off if you don't like it. Plenty of beach for both of us."

Doc looks at him for a moment, and Kocher feels like he's getting weighed and measured. "Fuck it," Doc says, and he sets down the cooler so he can shake out his towel and sit next to Kocher. They don't touch, but lack of contact doesn't stop Kocher's heart from pounding.

"I got beer," Kocher says, gesturing to his own cooler. "If you run short, I mean."

"I'm covered," Doc says. "But thanks."

They sit in silence, Kocher propped up on his elbows and staring at the surf as Doc lays back and closes his eyes and soaks up the sun. After a few minutes, Kocher stands up and stretches, puts his cooler on his towel so it doesn't blow away, and heads for the surf.

He swims and swims until he's far enough away from the edge of the water he's alone. He treads water and stares back at the shoreline and wonders what to do. Before he can decide, Doc's cutting through the water near him, and he stops a few yards away, also treading water.

"You didn't have to follow me," Kocher says.

"Who says I did?" Doc replies.

Kocher doesn't have words for what he needs to say, but he tries. "I didn't mean...It wasn't…"

"If we're gonna talk about this," Doc says. "You've got to finish your sentences."

"Did you know I was down here today?" Kocher asks.

"No," Doc says. "Did you know I was at the bar that night?"

"No."

They watch each other, getting no closer but still treading water.

"I'm sorry," Kocher says, and once it's out, he feels like he can say anything. "I'm sorry I was such a fucking shithead when we got back. I'm sorry I acted like I was surprised you wanted to try and have an actual relationship. I'm sorry I stormed out and told you to call me when you were done being a fucking liberal douchebag who just wanted to suck dick to stick it to command."

Doc barks a laugh. "Is that what you actually said?"

"Yeah."

"I didn't remember. I was just so…" the smile slides off his face. He's serious again, something simmering just under the surface, but his eyes aren't angry or flat, and Kocher feels like maybe they're about to get somewhere. "I was so goddamn angry at you, Eric. I knew you were bullshitting me, but I knew I couldn't convince you when you were like that, and when you stormed out, I couldn't follow you."

"I know," Kocher says. "I had to unfuck myself."

"Yeah, you did."

Kocher swims a single stroke so he's closer to Doc. He treads water again, and their legs brush a little. "Tim."

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. I was scared."

"I accept your apology," Doc replies. "And I think you're still scared."

"Yeah," Kocher admits. "But I think I want to be."

Doc stops treading water. He pushes up, sucks in a huge breath, and bobs under the surface. A second later, he's pulling Kocher down with him, a hand on his ankle, and when Kocher sinks down, Doc presses their mouths together and shares his breath.

When they surface, Kocher feels like everything is brand new. Doc is grinning at him, and it feels like everything that's bent in Kocher can be fixed if he just tries hard enough. "Have dinner with me," he says. "Tonight. Right now. Tomorrow."

Doc swims close, puts his arm around Kocher's neck and curls his finger right where Kocher's collar would be. "Yeah," he agrees. "Sounds good."

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Squared Up by Perpetual Motion](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4719542) by [amoama](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amoama/pseuds/amoama)




End file.
